And as he stared, a change came over him. He saw into the heart of the
universe. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the
Word was God, and he was seeing it now. He saw worlds within worlds within
words, worlds made of words, and of thoughts, and of matter, and of bits,
and of cream cheese, and many other things. He saw the future and the past
and the future that was the past; furry sad children combing beaches
desperately looking for food, pleading with him to help; places where
miners with ornate helmets dug in hills of gold, mining for dirt; he saw
himself, he saw his other selves, he saw the selves that were being created
even now, as each possible moment went its separate ways and everything
that could have happened, did happen; he saw that he would fail, and he
would succeed, and he would never know the difference, you make your
quantum superposition and you takes your chances, no wait that was a
different world but the principle was still the same. He saw Her, and he
saw the Committee Man, and he knew that even if he won, they were still out
there somewhere, playing their own games with the worlds. But for every
world they touched, there were an infinity of worlds alike in every respect
except for that. It didn't matter whether he went on or not, for if he
chose to give up another him would go anyway. But it did matter, didn't it?
He couldn't but think that it did, despite the lies he saw in the truth
before him. He was getting dizzy. He tried to practice the breathing
exercises he had learned from the Utterly Relaxed Koala People, but it was
no use, his lungs weren't there anymore. His vision of eternity began to
fade, and he heard Her voice (or was it the Committee Man's?) whispering
"You won't get it up the stairs." Suddenly, he was back in "reality".